Other Worlds
by VoiDreamer
Summary: Theirs is not a love that ends so easily. In other worlds, other lives, they have their happy ending. But not all end well, and in some they find their destiny an even colder, darker thing. A collection of AUs. Solas/Lavellan
1. 01 - Cut Short

AN: This is going to be a collection of various AUs, brought about by my wandering mind and short attention span.

Solas' comment that the relationship with Lav could have worked in 'other worlds' always made me wonder, and this is me exploring some very different scenarios. I'd love to hear any suggestions as well!

I promise not all will be sad, but I felt it would not be a proper Solas/Lavellan fic without a first bit of heartache.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the characters or plot, nor do I plan on making a profit from these little bits of writing.

Enjoy,

Voi

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><p><em>"Will you talk to me when we are finished with Corypheus?" <em>

Her words haunt him.

Waking, sleeping...he even hears them as he traverses the Fade. There is nowhere he goes that she is not there in some form.

A ghostly whisper that plagues his consciousness, not real or material but so very familiar that his heart cannot tell the difference. And the memory of it remains as fresh, as vibrant as it was the first time.

The anguish in her eyes, held back , held in control by a heart that is breaking under the strain. He will never forget that expression, the last time she truly looked at him.

How confident he had been, how foolhardy.

Had he learned nothing? Of others, of himself?

He had thought himself far removed from the young hothead he had been as a youth, and yet the mistakes he made felt too similar to have been coincidence. What arrogance, to think that he knew what was best, for her, for them both.

_"If we are both still alive afterward. Then I promise you, everything will be made clear." _

A promise he had no intention of keeping. He had said what she needed to hear, what he thought she needed to hear, and had watched her walk away.

Hurting but satisfied, he had consoled himself with the knowledge that he had set her on the path, had removed himself so that she could focus. What did it matter that in order to do so he had cut out both of their hearts?

_How had he not seen that? _

They would both live, _she_ would live, and could spend the rest of the days hating him once the world was saved.

He hadn't counted on her own brand of heartache.

No, not once had the thought even crossed his mind.

Not truly.

And the surprise of it was so terrible that he even now the memory leaves him almost mute in horror.

She allowed herself to be cut down.

Because she did _allow_ it to happen.

She _had_ to.

That was the only reasonable explanation for why, in the midst of battle, she was suddenly without guard or protection. Why she did nothing to stop Corypheus' final desperate attack even as she lunged forward to finish the task.

She had allowed herself to be struck.

Her blood was everywhere.

Even now he can feel that terrifying splash of warmth across his face as he raced towards her, can remember the twist of his insides as he assessed the damage to her person.

It was a nightmare, one which he is not sure he will ever wake from.

Not even his hoarse cries of denial could change what had happened.

There was no saving her.

The realization was immediate, brutal.

_There was too much, too much... _

His hands tremble at the memory of her blood on them, at the feel of her life slipping through his fingers. A life she had offered to spend with him had he but the strength to let her in.

Could he have changed their fates? Had his own failing courage wrought this conclusion for them both?

In the end, it was her expression that undid him. That wounded him more deeply than any sword or casted magic.

The smile, the relief. As if her death was a respite from the world she had found herself, the path she had been placed.

"Why, Vhenan?"

There was no time for explanation, and even less time for affection, but he could not stop himself.

He had accepted he might live the rest of his life away from her eyes.

But never had he imagined he might have to exists in a world where she did not draw breath.

_"Dareth shiral ma vhenan." _

Her words, the faint brush of her fingertips across his heart shattered what was left in his chest. And in her wake she left nothing but a splintered mess, the pieces so twisted and numerous he knew it would never be whole.

_Farewell my heart. _

Those were the last words she ever spoke to him, and when the light faded from her eyes, it was as if he had died along with her.

The orb that lay broken beside him had never mattered less, and he remained where he was until Cole and Cassandra gently pulled him away.

But that night he found no rest nor respite from his guilt, nor the night after that. Even those who he had worked with, traveled with, seemed to look at him with sad eyes.

It was too much, all of it.

Haunted by the memories of the fight, by the thoughts of her, escape had seemed the only thing to do. The only way to keep what small shred of sanity was to leave. Forever would not be long enough.

He had not expected to be stopped, to be forcibly unhorsed, in the middle of his departure.

"Leaving are you?! Running away in the middle of the night?"

Sera was furious, livid as she stood over him. Cheek stinging from where she had struck him, he looked up and could not stop the temper that rose so ferociously to the surface.

"What does it matter?" Snarling, he rolled to his knees, pressed the heel of his hand into his cheek, "There is nothing more for me here. You were there when we fought the Elder One, she is dead _by her own choosing_ and I am leaving by my own choice."

He stood, steadied himself as he reached for his mount's reins.

" You stupid man." There was temper in Sera's voice, but perhaps pity as well. It scraped Solas' already raw nerves, "You blind, _daft_ man."

Swinging up on the Hart's back, Solas said nothing, posture stiff as he turned toward the gates once more.

"You think she chose to die out of _spite_?" The elven woman scoffed, shouted after him, "You know better than that, you idiot. That attack she took -the one that killed her - that was aimed at you!"

And when Solas swung around to look at her, ready to deny her gross accusation, he found her dashing furious tears from her eyes.

"You bastard." She wept as she shouted, disappointed in him and his blindness, "The only one who doesn't know the truth is you. We all saw it. Ask any of _them_ and they'll tell you."

She pointed to the keep, to the hundreds of lives that had been witness to their Herald's final act.

One of bravery, not cowardice.

One of _love_.

He could have asked any of them.

But he never did.

Instead he turned and fled, chased by demons so dark and terrible they could only be the product of truth.

It is not until much later, years later, that he finally returns to the words that had started and ended everything.

_"Will you talk to me when we are finished?" _

Her words echo in the dark, never to be forgotten.

Just as the pain and guilt remain.

But maybe there is a way they can both find peace.

His heart knows what must be done.

_"Will you talk to me?"_

She looks at him with those pained eyes, emotion held back by a crumbling heart.

This time he nods and takes a seat, in the dark, in the Fade.

"Alright, Vhenan. Let us talk."

And so he begins to explain everything.


	2. 02 - Power of Knowledge

AN: Hi all, thanks so much for the crazy support on the last chapter! Without further ado here is world #2: in which the knowledge from the Well of Sorrows is the perfect solution to more than just the final fight.

Enjoy!

~Voi

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><p>"Please Vhenan."<p>

There were no tears in her eyes, but she could barely see him through the fog of pain that clouded her vision. So thin and responsive here in this grove, it was as if the veil had somehow manifested the pangs and twinges of a wounded heart into a physical presence.

"Solas." She swallowed hard, "Please don't go, I-"

Taking a great shuddering inhale, she tried to remain steady, to rise above the hurt he had caused with his sudden and inexplicable rejection. But the longer she struggled the more it became apparent that her ability to stave off tears was quickly dwindling.

"I love you."

She had never said the words to him before, had never meant to say them, use them, the way she was at that moment. But to remain silent now would be to live in regret for the rest of her life. Because even now she suspected he had no intention of staying with the Inquisition longer than was absolutely necessary.

Not with all of his secrets.

She knew he had them, and she was not alone in her estimations.

A melodic mix of men and women's voices echoed in her mind. She had heard their song since her decision at the Well of Sorrows. And while their insight and presence had been a hard won prize, the decision had come with a high cost as well.

Her choice had been a point of contention within the inquisition, with Solas in particular.

Even now she could recall his stricken expression, could sense the tension in his hands while he had checked her for injury, or something worse.

In the weeks since acquiring her abilities she had found them, the voices, immeasurably useful, powerful. Not just for her missions, but for those she journeyed with as well.

The voices had provided tantalizing clues and histories the likes of which even she could not fully comprehend. But could she truly believe them? They had never been wrong yet, but...

_Dread Wolf._

She shied away from the thought, turned away to focus on where Solas lingered, expression a mirror for her own anguish.

"You have a rare and marvelous spirit." His hand brushed her cheek for a fleeting moment, searing her with his touch, "In another world..."

The ache in her throat threatened to render her mute, to suffocate her entirely. She had suspected...had worried that such a day would come, but never could she have anticipated the pain.

"Why not this one? This world?" She asked.

And yet, even now, despite the hurt, his words were like the strikes of a hammer to molten weapon, each blow shaping a stronger sword, a keener blade.

"Do not walk away from me, Solas, please."

She took one step and then another, hand gently touching his arm as she drew near. He shuddered, swallowed an oath of pain as he wretched himself away.

"I can't. I'm sorry."

And then he started walking away, out of the grove, away from her.

Would she never again see that tender look in his eyes? Feel the touch of his hand, his lips, the firm strength of his arms as he held her close?

Struggling with the image of that future, she groped around in the dark of her mind willing herself to find the courage to call after him. To find someway to convince him otherwise.

The voices of the elders, of the Well, rose to her request with the same name they had given her before. And their solution, their answer, was everything that terrified her.

"Fen'harel?"

The word fell from her lips as soft as a whisper, but it crackled through the space like lightning, striking its mark with such accuracy that the force of it nearly made them both jerk upright.

Stopped dead in his tracks, Solas went rigid in the face of her question, her accusation.

Wheeling around on his heel, his eyes scorched as he searched her face, sought his answer with a fervor that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with worry.

"What did you say?"

Gone was the rich cadence of his voice as he spoke of the fade, replaced by a tightness she did not recognize.

He had not moved from where he was standing, on the edge of the grove and still very capable of fleeing if need be. But when she struggled to speak again, found the words lodged in her throat, he repeated himself.

"Vhenan, what did you say?"

Striding forward, he had her at arms reach a moment later, expression fierce as he waited for her to respond. But there was no missing the tension in his lean frame, and she did not miss the way his hands were fisted at his side.

"You are him." Her lips curled into a small wobbly smile then. How strange her life, to have seen and met so many rare people.

_Dread Wolf._

She repeated herself and was surprised by how comfortable the knowledge became the second time she spoke his name. Acceptance, like a soft cloak, settled around her as the truth perfumed the air.

"I am _not_."

He had always so sure of himself, of his own mind, that she had never questioned who he was. Now she knew why.

Knowledge was power, and she had the knowledge of centuries behind her.

"Liar." She responded to him without temper, but called out his dishonesty for what it was, "You would not have come back here, to stand in front of me, if I was not right."

"I would, if I thought you were making a terrible mistake."

"Like falling in love with the one man most capable of breaking my heart?" Her lopsided smile faded a little as he winced. "Or are the voices of Mythal's most dedicated followers incorrect?"

"They're wrong." Terse, desperate maybe, he shook his head, "Please do not pursue this any further."

"You are a terrible liar." Her smile failed her completely as she looked up and saw his too-serious face, "It's no wonder you've been so careful with your promises."

"I've never lied to you, Vhenan."

His brow knitted in an expression she knew all too well. She hated causing him pain, but she would not budge on this, not when she knew the truth of it now.

"Solas." She reached down and gently slid her small hand over one clenched fist, "Let me come with you. If just so you know I'm not telling people."

She was an equally poor liar and neither one of them believed her threat for more than a moment. But her intent was clear.

"Vhenan...you must not."

He was a man torn. But as his sides his hands relaxed, allowed her to lace her fingers for a moment.

"You do not know what you are asking."

He lifted their joined hands and brushed a kiss along her fingers, released his hold so he could kiss her palm. There was a wealth of turmoil behind his eyes, and she knew he would have spared her the truth, his truth, if it would have kept her safe.

"This is why you told me not to take the knowledge of the Well. Isn't it?" She reached up with her free hand to touch the corner of his mouth where it had pulled tight in strain, to smooth the furrow of his brow.

The realization that he would have preferred to suffer alone made her all the more resolved to help him, to travel beside him.

"I'm not going anywhere. Not now, when I know you best of all." She raised steely eyes challenged him, "If I truly am your heart, then let me come with you."

He looked like a man about to plunge off a cliff, desperate to change her mind but unable to find the strength to rip himself away, not again.

Unsmiling, serious as she pulled him into an embrace of her own, the warmth of their mutual touch was a balm to their wounded hearts. She wanted him to know he could count on her, could rely on her.

"I...if you wish it." He whispered her name like a lovers token, sweet and soft, held close to his heart, "It seems I can deny you nothing."

"You won't regret it." She promised, pressed herself into the strong curve of his shoulder as she tried to stave off the tears that threatened once more. But these tears were different, filled with joy.

Her heart had never been so full, so happy. She would gladly share his burden, his journey, if it meant they might one day find peace together.

He chuckled at the sound of her muffled sniffling and cuddled her closer, hands brushing the tears from her lashes, lips pressing a tender kiss to her mouth.

Warm, sweet, the first of their forever.

"Oh, Vhenan." he whispered, "I could never regret you, not ever."


	3. 02 - Arlathan Pt1

AN: So...this one got a little bit out of hand. I think it'll be a 2 part AU about our favorite couple in Arlathan, but who knows? This is more different than the other two, so I've had to take certain liberties. Please let me know what you think - I'd love to get your input!

Also, please let me know if I should adjust the rating - this is a little more adult than the previous two entries.

Enjoy!

~Voi

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><p>In Arlathan, during the time of ancient elves and immortality, she is a servant to a minor noble, Lady Rhendril of Clan Lavellan.<p>

One of hundreds in the household, she is a master gardener of summer roses and is valued for the blooms she grows and the rich fragrances that perfume the air of her mistress' numerous villas. And though there are others like her, specialists that have carefully cultivated their craft, she is _unique_.

At least, that is what _he_ tells her.

No other can make the blooms shine with such luster, nor grow generation after generation of flower with such a keen eye for desirable traits. It is an ability, a skill, she has not learned but one that is inherent to her character.

She has magic, it is true, but it is nothing compared to the power wielded by the nobles and their equals. And so her bland abilities are turned towards garden service and not entertainment. It is, perhaps a small blessing, for Lavellan (named for her mistress' clan and therefore without first name). She has never been particularly good at dealing with attention.

Still, her work is not without notice and when her mistress gains increasing popularity for her blossoms, Lavellan is gifted with a small house and an income of her own. Promised privacy and a small team of gardeners to help her work, the only other stipulation is that the fruits of her labor must remain the sole possession of her mistress.

Compared to the living of many of her peers the offer is of such unparalleled generosity that Lavellan agrees immediately. And though her home may not be as fashionable as those servants who work in the city, her country cottage is perfect.

Made of simple white stone and an unremarkable wooden roof, the addition of a private garden is a pleasant surprise that all but secures her dedication to her profession, her loyalty. And that was perhaps the point, because even though she is a slave, her worth makes her more. Almost like a servant, like a _person_.

Her mistress would have been a fool to not guard the source of her popularity.

"Gardener Lavellan."

Her assistant greets her at the back of the estate, by the large wrought silverite gate that guards their mistress' gardens. Two weeks she had been away, preparing her mistress' city villa for the annual winter ball, but the moment she returned it was as if she had never left.

And though the cold season had certainly come to Arlathan the estate remained warm, perfect for flowers. It was for this reason Lavellan had been given permission to live there year round, regardless of her mistress' current residence.

Another freedom allowed only by the grace of her talents.

"Gardener? I have the newest cuttings of the Coastal Whites, where should I put them?"

Removing her traveling cloak as she gestured her assistant to follow, Lavellan barely glanced at the tray of young plants as she strode towards the back of the gardens, towards her home.

"You're certain those are the Coastal whites?" Frowning, as she took a second, longer look, Lavellan shook her head, "I think they might be the Pale Floris. Yellow throated leaves, see?"

Gently touching the largest of the plants with her finger, Lavellan gestured in the direction of the large glass enclosure that dominated the southern end of the expansive gardens, "Can you please check? I'll take the Coastal Whites on my workbench when you're ready."

Her assistant was nodding a moment later, spiriting the box away with an apology that Lavellan only barely heard. She wanted to get to her home and sleep, two weeks of careful court appearances and arranging hundreds of roses for no less than a dozen events had wrung her of all energy. But there was always work to be done, and with so much relying on her roses she dared not waste even a moment.

At least the journey had been a fruitful one. Mistress Rhendril had been incredibly pleased with her newest delivery of summer roses, and had all but swooned at the increasingly large group of admirers that had come to call.

A happy mistress meant she could continue her work, could grow her esteem, could maybe one day find herself faced with true freedom rather than the illusion of it.

Closing the door of her home, Lavellan looked around the modest space to find not an item out of place. Safe, secure, everything was as she had left it.

Well, almost.

Running her hand along her rough wooden table she felt not a speck of dust, and there, in the corner of her small room she spied a flower in the small glass she kept for such small pleasures. She could only think of one person who had such private access, and the fact that he had watched over her things brought a small smile to her face.

Her lover was a thoughtful man indeed. Strange by some accounts, but sweet.

Bending down to inhale the soft fragrance of the flower, a delicate blue blossom called Wolf's Moon, Lavellan indulged for only a moment. It smelled like him, the flower, delicate but woodsy, deceptively rich. Indeed, the scent was a comfort, and she smiled when she realized the small blossom had perfumed her entire home. Given that he was a gardener of equal renown, his gift to her was made all the more precious for its rare appointment outside his master's garden.

A small bit of rebellion from a quiet man.

The thought brought a bittersweet smile to her face.

They did not see each other often, and so even the smallest reminder of him was cherished. But still she did not wish him to get in trouble. There was no telling who might have seen him carry such a precious gift to her.

Sighing as she changed from her formal court livery to the more functional garb of gardener, Lavellan stole one last moment to enjoy her home before heading back outdoors.

And as she walked she hummed softly, crossing the modest path from her home to where the her private garden lay tucked behind a short stone wall.

Hers was not as flamboyant as the country gardens of her mistress, and it was certainly nothing like the gardens kept in the center of the city. But as she gazed at the tidy beds of flowers, there was a peace, a contentedness.

It was hers, this garden. And her heart was in every carefully tended bloom, every fragile leaf, root and tuber. She would live very happily indeed if she could tend just this little space for the rest of her days.

"Lavellan?"

A voice, distant and melodic gently drew her away from her thoughts. There were few people at the country estate because of all the winter festivities that were held in the city's heart, but even she did not recognize this voice as a one of the household.

Turning towards the speaker, she looked up and felt the surprise paint itself across her features as she realized the person she was talking to was most certainly not her assistant.

Pale, unmarked face, blue eyes with that same sort of somber intelligence that reminded her of Lady Rhendril, Lavellan felt her heart give a little thrill in her chest at the sight of him.

"Has it truly been so long that you no longer recognize me?" Teasing her in his own quiet way, he drew close and gently settled himself on the wall beside her.

His voice was gentle, the touch of his hand upon her chin equally so as he canted her face upwards, bestowing a slow, melting kiss upon her lips a moment later. Slow, languid, he luxuriated in the heat of her lips just as she reveled in the firm pressure of his mouth, the sizzle of a very different kind of heat that came when his tongue delved deeper.

She had almost forgotten what it had felt like, to be in his arms, to feel the rush of pleasure of his hands upon her back, coaxing her closer.

In the end, he drew away only when they were both flushed, short of breath and she was shy with it.

"I am sorry if I startled you."

She didn't know if he was talking about the kiss or his unexpected appearance so she said only, "I'm glad you're here."

Her cheeks flushed a charming pink as she admitted softly, "I...I missed you."

The look he gave her told her that he shared the sentiment, and she did not protest when he leaned down a second time to give her a shorter, but infinitely sweeter kiss.

"Vhenan." His voice was husky with pleasure, "I have missed you as well."

His words made her blush a deeper scarlet, but her lips, however tender from his kisses, curved upwards in a contented smile, "How long can you stay?"

His handsome face lit with a muted smile, "A week, so we need not rush." Eying the rows of flowers awaiting her meticulous care, he turned back to her, "We are both committed to the land are we not?"

"Indeed." She nodded, leaned against his shoulder for only a moment before sighing, "I have a few hours of work that need doing."

His hand settled against the nape of her neck, squeezed her shoulder in support before stepping back.

"I will let you go then, as you must do your duty. But I will be waiting for you when you finish."

"Waiting?" Her lips parted, eyes slowly opening to give him a considering look.

His smile, warm and friendly became just that bit more suggestive and in his eyes she saw the lick of a fire banked by only the smallest of margins. Scorching, he looked at her in that moment as if he might like to unclothe her where she stood, push her against the rough wall and take their pleasure with an immediacy that had her heart racing.

"Wait for me?" she asked, voice a little too breathless to sound firm.

He chuckled, and the sound was every bit as seductive as the slow careful way he brushed his thumb along her lower lip.

"I will do my best."

The remaining hours of work were the longest she had ever had to endure.

Lavellan enjoyed her work. The feel of the soil in her hands, the satisfaction of nurturing life and watching it grow under her protective care, she thrived on the cycles of air, sunlight and water. But whereas she usually found such work calming, a time for reflection, this particular day proved to be the oppostie.

Gone was the exhaustion of her journey, replaced instead by the buzz of excitement, expectation. And the thought of it all kept her energized through the physically demanding rigors of the garden.

Still, by the time she was finished, the sky was dark with expectant rain, and evening had fallen. The day had taken its toll, and she returned to her home weary but content, hands and face smudged with no small amount of dirt.

"Tired?"

He gave her a knowing look as he met her at the door of her home, eyes dancing with the smile already upon his lips.

"A little." Her muscles ached from the exertion of the day, but thoughts of him had kept her occupied, "I could use a bath."

"Indeed?" His smile broadened, "Then it is a good thing there is one waiting for you."

"Oh?" Her lips quirked as she took one small, sultry step closer, "Just a bath?"

He closed the distance between them as he drew her further inside the house and shut out the rest of the world. Then, without a word of warning, his hands found their way to her waist, pausing only momentarily before smoothly slipping beneath the rough fabric of her shirt. Slowly, so slowly, he eased the dressing off her shoulders, letting her feel the heat of his fingers as they brushed over her belly, the tips of her breasts.

He followed suit a moment later, removing his own top with the sort of economical grace that had Lavellan stepping closer so as to touch the skin his bared so readily. Tall and leanly muscled, she was reminded in that moment of how handsome he was.

Feeling her heart beat frantically, she placed the palm on her hand upon his chest and smiled at the feel of his heart.

Strong, steady, just like him.

If he was nervous or shy there was no indicator, and she envied his control.

Smoothing her hands down the strong planes of his front, she leaned down to press her mouth against one of the few scars that bisected his body. They had spoken of his injuries in the past, but never had she found them anything less than beautiful, part of who he was.

"Vhenan."

She looked up to find his blue eyes filled with something so soft, so tender that she dared not speak, less it disappear.

"I love you."

His words were spoken fiercely, like a declaration, like truth itself, and she cannot help but repeat them back to him with equal passion. In all the world they have found their perfect other, and to have this moment together is so precious a gift they dare not waste a moment.

Their trip to the bathroom in a haze of soft kisses, and they spend the next few hours in delirious pleasure amidst the steam and scented oils.

He woke her in the middle of the night to make love to her a second time.

Half dazed, she had risen from sleep to the feel of hot flesh brushing her belly, her flank, the tenderness between her legs. Murmuring her mouth tilted upwards to meet his in a slow seductive mating that set fire to the blood in their veins, a slow burn that seemed to grow with each second.

Hands trailing along his strong back, her hands tightened when his found what he had been looking for.

"_Solas_."

Breathless, she drew back to see that amused look in his eye, that dark glint that had everything to do with his ability to make her gasp.

"Yes, Vhenan?"

His voice, infuriatingly steady to her own distracted one, seemed to laugh at her. But when she opened her mouth to say something he moved his hands in so scandalizing a way that her brain all but turned to mush.

Stuttering his name as she arched, ached, her fingers dug into the strong muscles of back as she tried to ride out the cresting wave of pleasure he had just wrung from her. But he was not done with her yet, and as he slid lower, the lovely curve of her body invited him to taste, to tease.

His laughter, his chuckle of amusement, was lost as he fixed his mouth upon her breast and sent them both spiraling towards even sweeter pleasure.

Later, after they had both collapsed with the pleasure of their joining, Lavellan found herself in the warm circle of his arms, nestled close to his chest, his heart. It was comfortable there, safe, and she had no intention of ever leaving.

But the evening was cold upon their fevered skin, and it was not long before Solas' mild shiver had her scrounging around for the blanket they had lost somewhere in the darkness.

Roused herself just long enough to pull the blankets up, she settled back beside him with a contented sigh, enjoying the way he shifted her closer so that he could burry his noise in the silky soft of her hair.

"Sleep well, my love."

She whispered the words so that he might hear but he was already asleep, lost to the beauty of his dreams and the mysteries of what lay beyond. And as she gently traced the elegant lines of his features, the silvery light played across the entwined shape of their bodies until it felt at once as if it must be a dream.

She fell asleep to the sound of his steady breathing and the feel of his heart beating beneath her open palm.

It was morning the next time she woke. Though this time it was not tender touches that roused her but the sound of raised voices, of shouting so close it seemed as if they were in the bedroom.

Eyes snapping open, she sat up to find herself alone but covered by the long length of Solas' coat. The owner of said coat was nowhere in the small room, but touching the sheets where he had slept revealed them to still be warm.

Perhaps he had gone to investigate the source of the noise?

Outside the voices seemed to grow even louder, building to a crescendo.

What was going on?

Worried, Lavellan sprang from the bed, pausing only for a moment to slip Solas' large cloak around her smaller form. The sleeves hung well over her hands, and the size of it meant she felt dwarfed, but it suited her purposes well enough.

She had no intention of doing more than seeing what was happening outside.

But no sooner had she left the privacy of her room when she found herself stopped short by what she found. And the surprise, the shock, of it made her pale with such abruptness that she had to tightly grasp the door frame to avoid losing her sense entirely.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Her mistress, furious and nearly scarlet with emotion, scowled at her gardener and demanded again, "What is the meaning of this?"

Flanked by her two personal guards in the middle of Lavellan's kitchen, the noble woman had never looked more imposing, more dangerous. There was no mistaking the look in her eyes as she surveyed the couple that stood before her, the tightlipped rage that burned as she stared at the man who even now remained unbowed by her temper .

Solas.

Face set in an equally grim expression, he glanced back at where his lover was standing. Pale and frightened she might have been, but remained where she was, her eyes never leaving his own.

"Go back to the room, vhenan."

Calm, there was no hint of anger or temper in his serene tone. Gently he directed her to the safety of the other room, to the place that had, just hours before, been filled with such tenderness and love. She wanted nothing more to return to that time, but she could not, would not, leave him to face her mistress alone.

Hesitating, she opened her mouth to tell him just that. But the look her gave her made her choke on her words.

"Please." He tried to smile for her, but his lips could barely counter the look of grief in his eyes, "Go to the room and close the door. I'll explain everything when this is over."

"Explain yourself?!" Her mistress hissed as her bright eyes sliced from Solas to where Lavellan remained trembling, "Oh believe me, I will have explanations for you both."

And that was the day Lavellan's world changed forever.


End file.
